Sherlock and Watson's Adventures
by hisemptyhearse
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, the greatest mind John Watson has ever known throughout England. They solve cases together, and John blogs about it. Bu in the stir of all this detective work, there seems to be dramatic twists and turns that in John and Sherlock's lives. Both teens are ready to take on the world, and together. AU. Teenlock.


**Author here jut to say, this is a set of chapters to describe the ridiculous adventures of two teenagers. Their escapades being nothing more then impacting on both their private and public lives. Join me twice every two weeks to follow the story of John Waston and Sherlock Holmes.  
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**I will post nothing from season three except for characters, which I will hardly even use. Until a large majority has seen it, I will not bring in any larger characters to the story that are from season three.**

**-I will post up the next chapter a week after this so you can ready yourselves.-**

**Prologue; John Watson**

The specific detail of the counselor's office from the tiniest prick from Bartholomew was not very important until you sat in the soft chairs made to comfort you; in which they really don't and have you feel awkward and to want to leave. For John Watson to be able to memorize the room was astounding to himself. 

John Watson was short, shorter then some girls even, and he had blonde hair that was cut short in an almost kept way. He did not slouch and he sat up straight looking his superior in the eyes. His gaze was not unnerving, but it seemed that he hung onto every word you muttered; sometimes he wasn't and just doing this was pure habit. 

John sat in the awkward and soft chair, and in front of him was James Sholto, his psychiatrist that seemed to be in a neutral state at all times, as he had always been whenever John saw him. 

"So John," Sholto started looking at a notepad he had situated on his desk, "how're you feeling today?" Sholto looked up at John for a brief second to see that John had broken eye-contact with him and had looked down at the notepad; only for a second, but Sholto had caught it. 

"Fine, absolutely fine," John told Sholto, who had written that down in the notebook. Nothing relaxed John right now, he was on his alert. His cane next to him, he had his hand itching to touch it. 

Sholto did not take notice, of course, he was more focused on John. "Its been a month, John, but does your leg feel better at all?" He investigated further into the crevices of John Watson's mind some more, invading his brain. 

"Oh, well, you know..." John stopped, his face turning absently towards the computer screen with a picture of Sholto being huddled around many other men in the same sort of outfit as him. He situated himself to stare at the background picture, ignoring Sholto's looks of concern. 

"It must still hurt every now and then, am I correct?" the psychiatrist questioned. He go a nod in response before continuing to question further to the topic of the day he wanted to hear, "Have you been keeping up with your blog page I set-up for you last week?" 

John stiffened then shook his head. "I have nothing to write about," he honestly recalled his boring, normal life, "I did, once, think about writing about our sessions, but then it wouldn't be private. Harry suggested I write about the things I did with her when she was home, but... They just weren't adventurous enough to talk about. They were actually quite boring." 

"Something is better then nothing, John." Sholto sat up more in his chair. It seemed as if John Waston was actually opening up to him, venting about his problems instead of wasting both of their times by sitting there and doing nothing. It was a brilliant way to end John's last time in Bartholomew, where he went to a school called Fifth Northumberland, and went to a room with a soft chair that was meant for comfort and did everything but. 

As John was in his room, boxes still packed up and cane, next to a pair of crutches he used when it just hurt too much, and all the while he could hear his mother's shuffling and his father's large strides coming from the floor above. He had gotten the satisfaction of having the entire basement to himself and could hear everything. He thought of himself as a spy, or rather the ears of the house. 

He and his family had arrived in a home in a place called Bakersville - not to be confused with Baskerville; the place not to far from Bakersville. It was really large, not to far from London, either. It was the ideal living place for families like his. 

The town itself was welcoming, but seemed it had it's flaws, but they were all normal. In fact, it was so normal, John had though he had imagined this to be either a cold nightmare or a beautiful dream; either would have been better than to find it to be a reality. Bakersville is where he would now eat, drink, sleep, and got to school at. 

John opened a box as he heard his mother talk about the school to his father again. He bothered not to listen, as he had heard it all before and read it from the brochure that was printed and put onto photo copy paper, and took his blankets out and set up his mattress. 

It had been the most joyus of rides, really, he had never wanted to just do something new like, oh you know, jump out of the car window while his parents listened to a woman speak about sex and chastity, and so John slept, a well-deserved sleep.


End file.
